Ways to a New Style in Architecture

Schmidt Number: S-2935

On-line since: 31st July, 2010

Lecture I

THE ACANTHUS LEAF

Dornach, 7th June, 1914.

A thought that
may often arise in connection with this building is that of
our responsibility to the sacrifices which friends have made
for its sake. Those who know how great these sacrifices have
been, will realise that the only fit response is a strong
sense of responsibility, for the goal at which we must aim is
the actual fulfilment of the hopes resting in this building.
Anyone who has seen even a single detail — not to speak
of the whole structure, for no conception of that is possible
yet — will realise that this building represents many
deviations from other architectural styles that have hitherto
arisen in the evolution of humanity and have been justified
in the jugdment of man. An undertaking like this can of
course only be justified if the goal is in some measure
attained. In comparison to what might be, we shall only be
able to achieve a small, perhaps insignificant beginning.
Yet, may be, this small beginning will reveal the lines along
which a spiritual transformation of artistic style must come
about in the wider future of humanity. We must realise that
when the building is once there, all kind of objections will
be made, especially by so-called ‘experts,’ that
it is not convincing, perhaps even dilettante. This will not
disconcert us, for it lies in the nature of things that
‘expert’ opinion is least of all right when
anything claiming to be new is placed before the world. We
shall not, however, be depressed by derogatory criticism that
may be levelled at our idea of artistic creation, if we
realise, as a compensation for our sense of responsibility,
that in our age, the origin of the Arts and of their
particular forms and motifs is greatly misunderstood by
technical experts. And then, gradually, we shall understand
that all we are striving to attain in this building stands
much closer to primordial forces of artistic endeavour which
are revealed when the eye of the Spirit is directed to the
origin of the Arts, than do the conceptions of art claiming
to be authoritative at the present time. There is now little
understanding of what was once implied by the phrase
“true artistic conception.” It need not therefore
astonish us if a building like ours, which strives to be in
harmony with primordial Will and in accordance with the
origin of the arts, is not well or kindly received by those
who adhere to the direction and tendency of the present age.

In order to
bring home these thoughts to you, I should like to start
to-day by considering a well-known motif in art — that
of the so-called acanthus leaf — showing the sense in
which our aims are in harmony with the artistic endeavours of
humanity as expressed in the origin of this acanthus leaf as
a decorative motif. Now because our endeavours are separated
by many hundreds, nay even thousands of years, from the first
appearance of this acanthus motif, they must naturally take a
very different form from anything that existed in the days
when, for instance, the acanthus leaf was introduced into the
Corinthian capital.

If I may be
permitted a brief personal reference here, let me say that my
own student days in Vienna were passed during the time when
the buildings which have given that city its present stamp,
were completed — the Parliament Buildings, the Town
Hall, the Votivkirche and the Burgtheatre. The famous
architects of these buildings were still living: Hanson who
revived Greek architecture, Schmidt who elaborated Gothic
styles with great originality, Ferstel who built the
Votivkirche. It is perhaps not known to you that the
Burgtheatre in Vienna was built according to the designs of
an artist who in the seventies and eighties of the last
century was the leading influence in artistic appreciation
and development of form in architecture and sculpture. The
Burgtheatre was built according to the designs of the great
Architect, Gottfried Semper.

At the Grammar
School I myself had as a teacher a gifted admirer and
disciple of Gottfried Semper, in the person of Josef Baier,
so that I was able to live, as it were, in the whole
conception of the world of architectural, sculptural and
decorative form as inaugurated by the great Semper.

Now, in spite
of all the genius that was at work, here was something that
well-nigh drove one to despair in the whole atmosphere of the
current conceptions of the historical development of art, on
the one side, and of the way to artistic creation on the
other. Gottfried Semper was undoubtedly a highly gifted
being, but in those days the usual conception of man and the
universe was an outcome of the materialistic interpretation
of Darwin, and the doctrine of evolution was also apparent in
the current ideas of art. Again and again this materialistic
element crept into the conceptions of art. It was, above all,
considered necessary to possess a knowledge of the technique
of weaving and interlacing. Architectural forms were derived
in the first place from the way in which substances were
woven together, or fences constructed so that the single
canes might interpenetrate and hold together. In short,
people were saturated with the principle that decoration and
ornamentation were forms of external technique. This subject
of course might be further elaborated, but I only want to
indicate the general tendency which was asserting itself at
that time — namely, the tendency to lead everything
artistic back to external technique. The standpoint had
really become one of ultilitarianism and the artistic element
was considered to be an outcome of the use to which things
were put. All treatises on the subject of art, and especially
on decoration, invariably made mention of the special
idiosyncrasies of the different technical experts. This of
course was a stream running parallel to the great flood of
materialistic conceptions that swept over the 19th century,
chief among them being the materialistic conception of art.
The extent to which materialism asserted itself in all
spheres of life during the second half of the 19th century
was enough to drive one to despair. Indeed I still remember
how many sleepless nights I had at that time over the
Corinthian capital. Now the main feature, the principal
decoration of the Corinthian capital — although in the
days of which I am speaking it was almost forbidden to speak
of such a thing as ‘decoration’ — is the
acanthus leaf. What could be more obvious than to infer
that the acanthus leaf, on the Corinthian capital was simply
the result of a naturalistic imitation of the leaf of the
common acanthus plant? Now anyone with true artistic feelings
finds it very difficult to conceive that a beginning was
somewhere made by man taking a leaf of a weed, an acanthus
leaf, working it out plastically and adding it to the
Corinthian column. Let us think for a moment of the form of
the acanthus leaf.
I will draw a rough sketch of the form of
the Acanthus Spinoza. This was supposed to have been worked
out plastically and then added to the Corinthian column. Now
there is, of course, something behind this. Vitruvius, the
learned compiler of the artistic traditions of antiquity,
quotes a well-known anecdote, which led to the adoption of
the “basket hypothesis” in connection with the
Corinthian column. The expression is a good one, for what,
according to the materialistic conception of art, was the
origin of the decoration on the Corinthian capital? Little
baskets of acanthus leaves that were carried about! When we
enter more deeply into these things we realize that this is
both symptomatic and significant. It becomes evident that
their understanding of the finer spiritual connections of the
evolutions of humanity has led investigators to a basket, to
basket-work, and as a kind of token of it we have the
“basket hypothesis” of the Corinthian column.
Vitruvius says that Callimachos, the Corinthian Sculptor,
once saw a little basket standing on the ground somewhere,
with acanthus plants growing around it, and he said to
himself: There is the Corinthian capital! This is the very
subtlest materialism imaginable. Now let me show you the
significance of this anecdote narrated by Vitruvius. The
point is that in the course of the modern age the inner
principle, the understanding of the inner principle of
artistic creation has gradually been lost. And if this inner
principal is not re-discovered, people simply will not
understand what is meant and desired in the forms of our
building, its columns and capitals. Those who hold fast to
the basket hypothesis — in a symbolical sense of course
— will never be able rightly to understand us.

The basis of
all artistic creation is a consciousness that comes to a
standstill before the portals of the historical evolution of
humanity as depicted by external documents. A certain
consciousness that was once active in man, a remnant of the
old clairvoyance, belonged to the fourth Post-Atlantean
period, the Graeco-Roman. Although Egyptian culture belongs
to the third Post-Atlantean epoch, all that was expressed in
Egyptian art belongs to the fourth epoch. In the fourth epoch
this consciousness gave rise to such intense inner feeling in
men that they perceived how the movement, bearing and
gestures of the human being, nay even the human form itself,
develop outwards into the physical and etheric. You will
understand me if you realise that in those times, when there
was a true conception of artistic aim, the mere sight of a
flower or a tendril was of much less importance than the
feeling: ‘I have to carry something heavy; I bend my
back and generate with my own form the forces which make me,
as a human being, able to bear the weight.’ Men felt
within themselves what they must bring to expression in their
own postures. This was the sense in which they made movements
when it was a question of taking hold of something or of
carrying something in the hand. They were conscious of a
sense of carrying, of weight, where it was necessary to
spread the hands and finger outwards. Then there arose the
lines and forms which passed over into artistic creation. It
is as though one felt in humanity itself how man can indeed
go beyond what he sees with his eyes and perceives with his
other senses: — he can go beyond it when he enters into
and adapts himself to a larger whole. Even in this case of a
larger whole, when a man no longer merely lets himself go as
he walks along, but is obliged to adapt himself to the
carrying of a load — already here he enters into the
organism of the whole universe.
And, from the feeling of the lines of
force which man has to develop in himself, arose the lines
that gave birth to artistic form. Such lines are nowhere to
be found in external reality. Now spiritual research is often
confronted by a certain wonderful akashic picture; it
represents the joining together of a number of human beings
into a whole, but a harmonious, ordered joining together.
Imagine a kind of stage, and as an amphitheatre around it,
seats with spectators; certain human beings are now to pass
in a procession round and inside the circle. Something
higher, super-sensible — not naturalistic — is to
be presented to man.

I have drawn it
diagrammatically, from the side view: a number of men are
walking one behind the other. They form the procession which
then passes round inside the circle; others are sitting in
the circle looking on.
Now the persons (in the procession)
are to portray something of great significance, something
that does not exist on the Earth, of which there are only
analogies on the Earth; they are to represent something that
brings man into connection with the great sphere of the
cosmos. In those times it was a question of representing the
relationship between the earthly forces and the sun forces.
How can man come to feel this relationship of the earthly
forces to the sun forces? By feeling it in the same way as,
for instance, the state of carrying a load. He can feel it in
the following way: all that is earthly rests upon the surface
of the earth and as it rises away from the earth (this is
only to be thought of in the sense of force) it runs to a
point. So that man felt the state of being bound to the earth
expressed in a form with a wide base, running upwards to a
point. It was this and nothing else, and when man sensed this
working of forces, he said to himself: ‘I feel myself
standing on the earth.’

In the same way
he also became aware of his connection with the sun. The sun
works in upon the earth and man expressed this by portraying
the lines of forces in this way. The sun, in its apparent
journey round the earth, sends its rays thus, running
downwards to a point.

If you think of
these two figures in alternation, you have the earth-motif
and the sun-motif that were always carried by the people who
formed the procession. This was one thing that in olden times
was presented in circling procession. The people sat around
in a circle and the actors passed around in a procession.
Some of them carried emblems representing man's connection
with the sun; and they alternated: earth-sun, sun-earth and
so on:

Man sensed this cosmic power: earth-sun,
and then he began to think how he could portray it. The best
medium for purposes of art proved to be a plant or tree whose
forms runs upwards to a point from a wider base. This was
alternated with palms. Plants having a form like a wide bud
were alternated with palms. Palms represented' the sun
forces; bud-forms running upwards to a point, the earth
forces.

Feeling his
place in the cosmos, man created certain forms, merely using
the plants as a means of expression. He used plants instead
of having to invent some other device. Artistic creation was
the result of a living experience of cosmic connections; this
is in accordance with the evolution of the creative urge in
man and the process is no mere imitation of outer phenomena
of nature. The artistic representation of the elements of
outer nature only entered into art later on. When men no
longer realised that palms were used to express the sun
forces, they began to think that the ancients simply imitated
the palm in their designs. This was never the case; the
ancients used the leaves of palms because they were typifying
the sun forces. Thus has all true artistic creation arisen,
from a ‘superabundance’ of forces in the being of
man — forces which cannot find expression in external
life, which strive to do so through man's consciousness of
his connection with the universe as a whole. Now all
contemplation and thought both in the spheres of natural
science and art, have been misled and confused by a certain
idea which it will be very difficult to displace. It is the
idea that complexity has arisen from simplicity. Now this is
not the case. The construction of the human eye, for
instance, is much more simple than that of many of the lower
animals. The course of evolution is often from the complex to
the simple; it often happens that the most intricate
interlacing finally resolves itself into the straight line.
In many instances, simplification is the later stage, and man
will not acquire the true conception of evolution unless he
realises this.

Now all that
was presented to the spectators in those ancient times, when
it was always a question of portraying living cosmic forces,
was later on simplified into the decoration, the lines of
which expressed man's living experience when he
presented these things.
I might make the following design in
order to express how man, from his conception of the course
of evolution from the complex to the simple, developed the
lines into a decoration. If you think of the lines in
alternation you have a simplified reproduction of the
circling procession of Sun-motif — Earth-motif,
Sun-Motif — Earth-motif. That is what man experienced
in the decorative motif. This decorative motif was already a
feature of Mesopotamian art and it passed over into Greek art
as the so-called Palmette, either in this or in a similar
form, resembling the lotus petal.

This
alternation of Sun-motif, Earth-motif, presented itself to
the artistic feeling of mankind as a decorative motif in the
truest sense. Later on man no longer realised that he must
see in this decorative motif a reproduction that had passed
into the subconscious realm, of a very ancient dance motif, a
ceremonial dance. This was preserved in the palmette motif.
Now it is interesting to consider

the following: — On the decorations of
certain Doric columns one often finds a very interesting motif
which I will sketch thus.
Underneath what has to bear the capital we find
the following. Here we have the torus of the Doric column,
but underneath this we find, in certain Doric columns,
introduced as a painting around the pillar, the Earth-motif
somewhat modified, and the Sun-motif. Up above we have the
Doric torus and the decorative motif below as an ornament. We
actually find the palmette motif on certain Doric columns,
carried out in such a way that it forms a procession:
Sun-Earth, Sun-Earth and so on.

In Greece, that
wonderful land where the fourth Post-Atlantean period was
expressed in all its fulness, there was a union of what came
over from Asia with all that I have now described and which,
as an after-image is there, on Doric columns together with
the truly dynamic-architectonic principle of weight-bearing.
This union came about because it was in Greece that the Ego
was fully realised within the human body, and
therefore this motif could find expression in Greek culture.
The Ego, when it is within the body, must grow strong if it
has to bear a load. It is this strengthening process that is
felt in the volute. We see the human being, as he strengthens
his Ego in the fourth Post-Atlantean period, expressed in the
volute. Thus we come to the basic form of the Ionic pillar;
it is as if Atlas is bearing the world, but the form is still
undeveloped in that the volute becomes the weight bearer.

Now you need
only imagine what is merely indicated in the Ionic pillars,
the middle portion, developing downwards to the perfect
volute and you have the Corinthian column.
The middle portion is simply extended
downward, as it were, so that the character of weight bearing
becomes complete. And now think of this weight bearing in the
form of a plastic figure and you have the human force bent
into itself — the Ego bent round, in this case bearing
a weight. An artistic principle is involved when we reproduce
in miniature anything that is worked out on a large scale,
and vice-versa. If you now think of an elaboration
of the Corinthian column with the volute bearing the abacus
here, and repeat this artistic motif lower down where it only
serves as a decoration, you have plastically introduced in
the decoration something that is really the whole column. Now
imagine that the Doric painting which grew out of the
decorative representation of a very ancient motif, is united
with what is contained in the Corinthian column and the
intuition will arise that the decoration around it is the
same as an earlier painting. The painting on the Doric column
was worked out plastically — I can illustrate this to
you by the diagram of the motif containing the the palmette
— and the urge arose to bring the palmette into the
later decorative motif. Here it was not a motif representing
the bearing of a load; what was mere painting in the Doric
column (and therefore flat) was worked out plastically
in the Corinthian column and the palm leaves are allowed to
turn downwards. To the left I have drawn a palmette and on
the right the beginning of it that arises when the palmette
is worked out plastically.
If I were now to continue, the
painted Doric palmette would thus pass over into the
Corinthian plastic palmette. If I did not paint the palmette
we should in each case have the acanthus leaf. The acanthus
leaf arises when the palmette is worked out plastically; it
is the result of an urge not to paint the palmette
but to work it out plastically. People then began to call
this form the acanthus leaf; in early times, of course, it
was not called by this name. The name has as little to do
with the thing portrayed as the expression ‘wing’
has to do with the lungs and lobes or ‘wings’ of
the lungs. The whole folly of naturalistic imitation in the
case of the acanthus leaf is exposed, because, in effect,
what is called the acanthus leaf decoration did not arise
from any naturalistic imitation of the acanthus leaf, but
from a metamorphosis of the old Sun motif in the palmette
that was worked out plastically instead of being merely
painted. So you see that these artistic forms have proceeded
from an inner perception and understanding of the postures of
the human etheric body (for the movement of a line is
connected with this) — postures which man has to set up
in his own being.

The essential
forms of art can no more arise from an imitation of nature
than music can be created by an imitation of nature. Even in
the so-called imitative arts, the thing that is imitated is
fundamentally secondary, an accessory as it were. Naturalism
is absolutely contrary to true artistic feeling. If we find
that people think our forms here are grotesque we shall be
able to comfort ourselves with the knowledge that this kind
of artistic conception sees in the acanthus motive nothing
but a naturalistic imitation. The acanthus motif, as we have
seen, was created purely from the spirit and only in its late
development came to bear a remote resemblance to the acanthus
leaf. Artistic understanding in future ages will simply be
unable to understand this attitude of mind which in our time
influences not only the art experts who are supposed to
understand their subject, but all artistic creation as well.
The materialistic attitude of mind in Darwinism also
confronts us in artistic creation, in that there is a greater
and greater tendency to make art into a mere imitation of
nature. My discovery of these connections in regard to the
acanthus leaf has really been a source of joy to me, for it
proves circumstantially that the primordial forms of art have
also sprung from the human soul and not from imitation of
external phenomena.

I was only able
really to penetrate to the essence of art after I had myself
moulded the forms of our building here. When one moulds forms
from out of the very well-springs of human evolution, one
feels how artistic creation has arisen in mankind. It was a
strange piece of karma that during the time when I was deeply
occupied with following up a certain artistic intuition (this
was after the forms for the buildings had already been made)
— an intuition that had arisen during the General
Congress in Berlin — it happened that I began to
investigate what I had created in these forms, in order to
get a deeper understanding. One can only think afterwards
about artistic forms; if one “understands” them
first and then carries them out, they will have no value. If
one creates from concepts and ideas nothing of value will
ensue, and the very thing that I perceived so clearly in
connection with the acanthus leaf, and have shown to be
erroneous, is an indication of the inner connections of the
art in our building.

I came upon a
remarkable example which is purely the result of clairvoyant
investigation. At one point I discovered a curious point of
contact with Rigl, a fellow-countryman of mine. It is a
curious name, not very aristocratic, but typically Austrian.
This man Rigl did not achieve anything of great importance
but while he was Curator of an Architectural Museum in Vienna
he had an intuitive perception of the fact that these
architectural decorations had not arisen in the way described
by “Semperism” at the end of the 19th century.
Rigl hit upon certain thoughts which are really in line with
the metamorphosis of the palmette motif into that of the
acanthus leaf. Quite recently, therefore, I have discovered a
perfect connection between the results of occult
investigation, and external research which has also hit upon
this development of the so-called acanthus motif from the
palmette. ‘Palmette’ is of course merely a name;
what is really there in the palmette is the Sun-motif. In the
first place, of course, one feels in despair about an idea
like that of Rigl. He simply could not realise whence the
palmette motif had originated and that it was connected with
forces working and moving in man. Rigl remonstrates with the
learned art critics who have brought Semper's ideas into
everything and are for the most part mere naturalists, but in
spite of this he did not get very far. He says that in regard
to the acanthus leaf the learned art critics are still
feeding upon the old anecdote quoted by Vitruvius. (It cannot
be said that they are all feeding upon it, but it is true
that they constantly quote it.) Rigl, however, only mentions
this anecdote briefly; he does not think it worth while to go
into all the details because it is too well known. What he
leaves out is very characteristic. He says that Callimachos
had seen a basket surrounded by acanthus leaves and that then
the idea of the Corinthian column came to him. Rigl, too,
leaves something out and this very thing shows that the
typical conceptions of our age must despair of ever having
real knowledge in this sphere. He leaves out the most
important factor in the whole anecdote, which is that what
Callimachos saw was over the grave of a Corinthian
girl. That is the important thing, for it implies no less
than that Vitruvius, although he wisely holds his tongue
about it, intends to indicate that Callimachos was
clairvoyant and saw, over a girl's grave, the Sun-motif
struggling with the Earth-motif, and above this the girl
herself, hovering in her etheric body. Here indeed is a
significant indication of how the motifs of Sun and Earth
came to be used on the capitals of columns. If we are able to
see clairvoyantly what is actually present in the etheric
world above the grave of a girl who had died, we realise that
the palmette motif has arisen out of this, growing, as it
were, around the etheric body that is rising like the sun. It
seems as though men have never really understood the later
Roman statues of Pytri-Clitia for they are nothing else than
a clairvoyant impression that can be received over the graves
of certain people; in these statues, the head of an
extraordinarily spiritual, though not virginal Roman woman,
seems to grow upwards as if from a flower chalice. Some time,
my dear friends, we shall understand what really underlies
the anecdote quoted by Vitruvius, but not until we grow out
of the unfortunate habit which makes us perpetually ask,
‘What is the meaning of this or that?’ and is
always looking for symbolic interpretations such as,
‘this signifies the physical body, that the etheric
body, this or that the astral body.’ When this habit is
eliminated from our Movement we shall really come to
understand what underlies artistic form — that is to
say, we shall either have direct perception of true spiritual
movement, or of the corresponding etheric phenomenon.

It is actually
the case that in clairvoyant vision the acanthus leaf can be
seen, in its true form, above a grave.

If you will
consider all these things; my dear friends, you will realise
how important it is to understand the forms in the interior
of our building, the forms that should adorn it, and to know
the artistic principle from which they have arisen. On
previous occasions I used a somewhat trivial comparison, but
it is only a question of understanding the analogy. Although
it is trivial, it does, nevertheless, convey what it is
intended to convey. When we are trying to understand what
will be placed in the interior of the building in these two
different sized spaces, we may with advantage think of the
principle of the mould in which German cakes are baked.
The cake rises in the mould and when it is
taken out its surface shows all the forms which appear on the
sides of the mould in negative. The same principle may be
applied in the case of the interior decoration of our
building, only that of course there is no cake inside; what
must live there is the speech of Spiritual Science, in its
true form. All that is to be enclosed within the forms, all
that is to be spoken and proclaimed, must be in
correspondence, as the dough of the cake corresponds to the
negative forms of the baking mould. We should feel the walls
as the living negative of the words that are spoken and the
deeds that are done in the building. That is the principle of
the interior decoration. Think for a moment of a word, in all
its primordial import, proceeding from our living Spiritual
Science and beating against these walls. It seems to hollow
out the form which really corresponds to it. Therefore I at
least was satisfied from the very outset that we should work
in the following way: with chisel and mallet we have a
surface in mind from the beginning, for with the left hand we
drive the driving chisel in the direction which will
eventually be that of the surface. From the very outset we
drive in this direction. On the other hand we hold the
graver's chisel at right angles to the surface.

It would have
been my wish — only it was not to be — that we
should have had no such surfaces as these (pointing to an
architrave). They will only be right — when something
is taken away from them. This roundness here must be
eliminated. It would have been better if from the very
beginning we had worked with the graver's chisel for then
there would have been no protuberance but only a surface.
What we must do is to feel from the models how the interior
decoration is the plastic vesture for the Spiritual Science
that is given its in the building. Just as the interior
decoration has the quality of being ‘in-carved,’
so the outer decoration will seem as though it is ‘laid
on.’ The interior decoration must always have the
character of being in-carved. One can feel this in the model,
for the essential thing is a true inner feeling for form in
space. It is this that leaves one unsatisfied even in such
writings as those of a man like Hildebrandt. He has a certain
idea of the workings of form but what he lacks is the inner
feeling of form — the inner feeling that makes one live
wholly within the form. He simply says that the eye should
feel at home when it looks at form. In our building we must
learn to experience the forms inwardly, so that, holding the
chisel in a particular way, we learn to love the surface we
are creating — the surface that is coming into being
under the mallet. I, for my part, must admit that I always
feel as if I could in some way caress such a surface. We must
grow to love it, so that we live in it with inner feeling and
not think of it as something that is merely there for the eye
to look at.

Just recently
someone told me after a lecture that a certain very clever
man had accused us of straining after
‘externalities,’ as instanced by the fact that
different kinds of wood have been used for the columns in the
interior. This shows how little our work has been understood.
Such a thing is considered to be a dreadful externality. This
very intelligent man, you see, simply cannot realise that the
columns must be of different woods. The real reason
why he cannot understand, is that he has not paused to
consider what answer he would have to make if he were asked:
‘Why must there be different strings on a violin? Would
it not be possible simply to stretch four A strings
instead?’ The use of different woods is a reality in
just the same sense. We could no more use only one kind of
wood than we could have only A strings on a violin. Real
inner necessities are bound up with this. One can never do
more than mention a few details in these matters. The whole
conception of our building and what must be expressed in it,
is based upon deep wisdom, but a wisdom that is at the same
time very intimate. Of course there will be forms which are
nowhere to be found in the outer physical world. If anything
bears an apparent resemblance to a form in the animal or
human body, this is simply due to the fact that higher
Spirits who work in nature, create according to these forces;
nature is expressing the same things as we are expressing
in our building. It is not a question of an imitation of
nature, but of the expression of what is there as pure
etheric form. It is as though a man were to ask himself:
‘What idea must I have of my own being when I look away
from the outer sense-world, and try to find an environment
that will express my inner being in forms?’ I am sure
that everyone will be struck by the plastic forms on the
capitals and in the rest of the interior. Not a single one of
these forms is without its own raison d'étre.
Suppose anyone is carving the column just here (pointing to
an architrave motif). At another place he will carve more
lightly or deeper down into the wood. It would be nonsense to
demand symmetry. There must be living progression, not
symmetry. The columns and architraves in the interior are a
necessary consequence of the two circular buildings with the
two incomplete domes. And I cannot express this any more
precisely than by saying that if the radius of the small dome
were at all larger or smaller in proportion to the large
dome, each of these forms would have to be quite different,
just as the little finger of a dwarf is different from that
of a giant. It was not only the differences in dimension, but
the differences in the forms that called forth the
overwhelming feeling of responsibility while we were erecting
the building; down to the smallest detail it could not be
other than it is. Each single part of a living organism has
to exist within and in accordance with the whole living
organism. It would be nonsense to say: I want to change the
nose and put a different organ in the place where the nose
now is.' It is a matter of actual fact that the big toe, and
the small toe as well, would have to be different if the nose
were different. Just as nobody in his senses would wish to
re-model the nose, so it is impossible that the form here
should be other than it is. If this form were different, the
whole building would have to be different, for the whole is
conceived in living, organic form. The advance we must make
is this: all that was, in the early days of art, a kind of
instinctive perception of a human posture transformed into
artistic form must now enter with consciousness into
the feeling life of man. In this way we shall have, in our
interior decorations, etheric forms that are true and living,
and we shall feel them to be the true expression of all that
is to live in our building. It simply cannot be
otherwise.

Now the other
day I received two letters from a man who, ten years ago, it
is true, did belong to the Anthroposophical Movement, but who
since then has left it. He asked me if he could be allowed to
make the windows, for he was so well qualified for the work.
He was really very insistent. But when you see the windows
you will understand that they could only be made by somebody
who has followed our work right up to the present. Suppose I
were to press my hand into a soft substance: the impress
could only be that of my hand, it could not be the head of an
ox for instance! It is Spiritual Science that must
be impressed into the interior decoration; and Spiritual
Science must let in the sunlight through the windows in a way
that harmonises with its own nature. The whole building is
really constructed — forgive this analogy —
according to the principle of the cake mould, only of course
instead of a rising cake, it is filled with Spiritual Science
and all the sacred things that inspire us. This was always
the case in art, and above all it was so in the days when men
perceived in their dim, mystical life of feeling the
alternation of the principles of earth and sun in the living
dance and then portrayed the dance in the palmette motif. So
it must be when it is a question of penetrating the outer
sense- veil of natural and human existence and expressing in
forms things that lie behind the realm of sense perception
— if, that is to say, we are fortunate enough to be
able to carry this building through. How inner progress is
related to the symptoms of onward-flowing evolution —
this is what will be expressed in the building, in the
dimensional proportions, forms, designs and paintings.

I wanted to
place these thoughts before you in order that you may not
allow yourselves to be misled by modern conceptions of art,
which have put all true understanding on one side. A good
example of this is the belief that the Corinthian capital
arose primarily from the sight of a little basket with
acanthus leaves around it. The truth is that something
springing from the very depths of human evolution has been
expressed in the Corinthian capital. So also we shall feel
that what surrounds us in our building is the expression of
something living in the depths of human nature behind the
experiences and events of the physical plane.

To-day I only
wanted to speak of this particular detail in connection with
our building and with a certain chapter in the history of
art.

There may be
opportunities during the coming weeks to speak to you of
other things in connection with some of the motifs in the
building. I shall seize every available opportunity to bring
you nearer to what is indeed full of complexity, but yet
absolutely natural and necessary, in a spiritual sense, for
our building.

In our days it
is not at all easy to speak about problems of art, for
naturalism, the principle of imitation, really dominates the
whole realm of art. So far as the artist himself is
concerned, naturalism has arisen out of a very simple
principle; so far as other people are concerned it seems to
have arisen from something less simple. The artist, when he
is learning must, of course, copy the productions of his
master; he must imitate in order to learn. Man now imitates
nature out of instinct — for he has made the principle
of pupil into that of master and has then put the master on
one side because he will brook no authority. This principle
is very convenient for artists, for they do not want to get
beyond an artistic reproduction of the models before them.
The layman to-day understands the principle of naturalism as
a matter of course. Where can he find anything to take hold
of when he sees forms like those in our building? How are
these forms to stimulate any thought at all? He will tear his
hair and ask, with a shrug of his shoulders: ‘Whatever
is this?’ And he will be lucky if he finds anything at
all to take hold of, for instance, if he discovers that some
detail has a slight resemblance, maybe to a nose! Although
this may be negative, he is delighted that he has discovered
anything at all. To-day the layman is pleased if when he
finds in the different arts something that transcends the
purely naturalistic element, he can say: ‘This has a
resemblance to something or other.’ Art will most
certainly be misunderstood if people continue to think that
it is only legitimate to express things that resemble
something or other in the external world. Real art does not
‘resemble’ anything at all; it is something in
itself, sufficient unto itself. And again from this point of
view it was despairing to find that as a result of the
materialism of the second half of last century, painters (not
to speak of sculptors) were asking themselves for instance:
‘How am I to get the effect of that mist in the
distance?’ And then all kinds of attempts were made to
reproduce nature by pure imitation. It really was enough to
drive one to despair! Ingenious things were produced, it is
true, but what is the value of them? It is all far better in
nature herself. The artists were wasting their time in their
efforts to imitate, for nature has it all in a much higher
form. The answer to this problem is to be found in the
Prologue to “The Portal of Initiation.”
[The first of Dr. Steiner's Mystery Plays.]

Not long ago we
happened to be going through the Luxemburg Gallery in Paris,
and we saw a statue there. At first sight it was exceedingly
difficult to make out what it was supposed to be, but by
degrees it dawned on one that perhaps it was meant to
represent a human figure. It was so distorted .... I will
not imitate the posture, for it would be too much of a strain
on the shoulders and knees! It is an absolutely hideous
production, but I assure you that if it were to meet one in
nature it would be much easier to understand than this
“work of art.” People to-day do not realise the
absurdity of giving plastic form to a motif that has been
thought out, for there is, as a matter of fact, no real
necessity to give it plastic form. That which is to be given
plastic form must from the very beginning be there in itself
and only conceived of plastically. No true sculptor will say
that Rodin's productions are an expression of true plastic
art. Rodin models non-plastic motifs very well, in an
external sense, but true artistic feeling will always be
prompted to ask if it amounts to anything, for true plastic
conception is entirely lacking. All these things are
connected, my dear friends. I have told you what happened in
my young days, when I was about 24 or 25 years old, when I
absorbed the doctrines of Semper. Already then they were
enough to drive one to despair and their influence has not
been got rid of yet. Therefore I ask you — and more
particularly those who are working so devotedly and
unselfishly at our building with all the sacrifices that
their work entails — always to try to proceed from
inner feeling for what this building ought to contain and to
feel in life itself the forms which must arise, in order that
we may free ourselves from the trammels of much so-called
modern “art.” We must realise, in a new sense,
that art is born from the depths of man's being. So greatly
is this prone to be misunderstood in our age that people have
taken the metamorphosis of of the Earth and Sun motifs to be
an imitation of the acanthus leaf. If people will stop
believing the anecdote quoted by Vitruvius, that Callimachos
saw a basket strewn around with acanthus leaves and then used
it as a motif on columns, and will listen to what he says
about Callimachos having had a vision over the grave of a
Corinthian girl, they will also realise that he had
clairvoyant sight and they will have a better understanding
of the evolution of art. They will realise that development
of clairvoyance leads man to the realm lying behind the world
of sense. Art is the divine child of clairvoyant vision
— although it only lives as unconscious feeling in the
soul. The forms that are seen by the clairvoyant eye in the
higher worlds cast their shadow pictures, as it were, down to
the physical plane.

When people
understand all that lives in the Spirit — the Spirit
which has the power to impress itself into what surrounds us
here in our building, finding its expression in the outer
framework around us —they will also understand the goal
we have set ourselves, and see in the forms of art the
impress of what has to be accomplished and proclaimed in
living words in our building. It is a living word this
building of ours!

Now that I have
tried, scantily, it is true, to indicate something in regard
to the interior we shall, before very long, be able to speak
of the painting and also of the outside of the building.